In attempting to deal with my ever over-flowing book shelves, I resolved to get rid of duplicates--mostly ancient paperbacks from the time when fifty cents was a high-end classic. Henry James's Washington Square and The Europeans, probably from my college days sixty years ago, appeared to be just such a candidate. The rubber band holding it together was a clue.
Nope, can't even donate this one. What idiot reads Henry James these days, and especially in this condition?
Me, that's who. I couldn't let it go without one last perusal. (I actually like some of James's work.) And I really enjoyed The Europeans--in which a slightly predatory baroness with New England connections comes to visit her cousins and takes up residence in a nearby house. The culture clash is wittily presented and I loved the scene on the page below, with the existential question:
"What is life, indeed, without curtains?"
It should be embroidered on a pillow. (Not t hat I agree--we have curtains only in our guest room and since Josie's coming, we have darkening curtains in The Room so she can nap. But there's something about that phrase that tickles me. Yes, I am easily entertained.)